Heir
by Theyumenoinu
Summary: (AU) The crowned prince, banished and shamed, his only companion-the Vulcan servant he rescued minutes from death. Life couldn't get any worse. "Your Highness, I have received word of a substantial sum of money in the event of your capture." Spock spoke softly, an emotion spilling into dark eyes. Jim cursed under his breath, he had spoken too soon. Kirk/Spock slash (Slow Build).
1. Prologue

**Summary: (AU) **

**The crowned prince, banished and shamed, his only companion- the Vulcan servant he rescued minutes from death. Life couldn't get any worse. **

"**Your Highness, I have received word of a substantial sum of money in the event of your capture." Spock spoke softly, an emotion spilling into dark eyes.**

**Jim cursed under his breath, he had spoken too soon. **

**Pairing: Kirk/Spock (Slow Build)**

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own the Star Trek franchise or its characters.**

**A/N: This idea just came to me randomly, really have no idea how I thought of it. I blame sleep deprivation. Please let me know what you think. This story begins with Jim and Spock as kids.**

* * *

**Heir**

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

Jim lay on the grass, gazing at the sky, watching as the clouds lazily drifted overhead. God, he was bored. There wasn't a thing to occupy his time in the palace, unless he felt like tormenting the guards or wreaking havoc. Usually the latter would wind him up in front of his step-father and the man lacked patience for him. His mother couldn't defend him either, he was appointed the new King and his final decisions trumped hers.

Sighing, he rolled over onto his stomach, gripping the blades of grass between his fingers, plucking them from the earth. Forbidden to leave the palace perimeter, he had no friends and thus spent countless days outside, daydreaming about another life. He didn't understand why he was not allowed to leave the stone walls that surrounded them but his brother Sam could. Mother informed him he was too young and when he retorted with the fact that Sam was only a few years older than he was, she fell silent, her face deadening before informing him that was the way things were and the subject was instantaneously closed.

From a distance he heard a shout and it startled him out of his trance and quickly glanced up to see dark figures marching through the gates, guards surrounding them. It was odd to see and curiosity took ahold of him as he leapt to his feet, dashing through the front gardens until he was within a closer proximity, allowing him to decipher the scene. A long line of strange pale individuals in dark robes were filtering in, their hands bound behind their backs, staring blankly ahead. Jim took in their strange hair styles, cut short and so near perfect, he almost giggled. Their ears were pointed and he absentmindedly reached up to trace the oval of his, wondering why theirs differed.

There didn't seem to be any particular gender or age, amongst the men were women and children as well. The guards hadn't seemed to notice him standing there and he decided to creep a bit closer until he was only a few feet shy of one of the guards, peering around his burly build at an attempt to get a closer look. From all the stoned faces, one stood out. He was small, about Jim's age, his head slanted down in defeat as he struggled to keep pace with the adults. Jim tilted his head; his mind whirling with confusion as to why he was different from the rest. Too entranced to notice the guard had acknowledged his presence, he jerked when a hand suddenly clamped down on his arm in a near bone-breaking grip.

"Prince James, what are you doing here?" The guard demanded, yanking him closer to him. Before his father had passed away, the guards were forbidden from touching him in such a manner. Since his step-father took over, they had free reign if they felt Jim was defying the King in any sense.

"Nothing!" He exclaimed, attempting to tug himself away but the hand griped him tighter, eliciting a pained sound from him. "Let go!" He shouted.

"I will not, you are not allowed to be present during prisoner transfers."

Jim gasped.

_Prisoners?_

He quickly glanced back to the group, his eyes falling upon the boy who was now a few feet away, no longer staring at the ground, dark eyes scrutinizing him heavily. An emotion passed through his dark eyes that Jim couldn't recognize; it burned in his irises, averting his attention suddenly to the guard who held Jim firmly.

The guard grunted, yanking him hard again, "I will escort you to your private rooms." He roughly dragged Jim away from them, stumbling as he took desperate glances back over his shoulder in attempt to see one last glance of the strange boy again but was forced to return his attention forward as his feet hit against the steps leading into the palace.

Jim was in tears by the time they reached his bedroom, his arm throbbing as he was shoved inside, the door slamming shut behind him. A strange beeping noise emitted from behind the door before a loud click rung out, locking him in. He rushed toward the window, unlatching the hook, allowing it swing open as he gazed out towards the front gates to find it was now empty, the group gone. Slumping against the bench beside the window, he rubbed his tender arm, cringing from the pain. His head whirled with the scene he had just witnessed.

Never before had there been prisoners in the kingdom, who were they?

* * *

The light dimmed in the bedroom as the sun began to set, streaks of orange painted against his walls and the four-poster bed he lied upon, gazing blearily at the ceiling. A beeping sound cut through the silence and Jim bolted up, scrutinizing the door intently as it was unlocked, opening slowly to reveal the same boy he had seen previously, his robe replaced by a strange suit that didn't quite accommodate his tiny structure, hanging loosely around his midsection. He carried a silver tray with domed plates. A guard towered behind him, arms crossed.

Hesitating for a moment, the boy finally entered, slowly shuffling his way into the room as the doors closed shut behind him, leaving him alone with Jim. He maneuvered towards the bed, tentatively placing the tray upon the table beside it, keeping his sight set upon it as he straightened himself.

"Will this be all you require, Your Highness?" He inquired, folding his arms behind his back.

Jim blinked at him, stunned for a moment before he slid from the bed, approaching the boy cautiously. He reached out to touch him and was startled as the boy hastily diverted from his reach, eyes still lingering on the tray.

"Hey." Jim said softly, "Who are you?"

Dark eyes glimpsed up to meet his before darting away, bowing his head slightly.

"I am Spock, Your Highness."

Jim chuckled, "Spock? That's so weird. And stop calling me that, my name's Jim."

There was a palpable pause and Jim leaned in towards him impatiently.

"I cannot refer to you so informally, Your Highness, it is not permissible." He stated flatly.

Jim huffed, his face scrunching up in confusion. This kid was strange, not in just his appearance but also in his behavior. He didn't act like Jim did, is this how other children were like outside the palace? Could it be that Jim was really the odd one? As his thoughts wandered a moment, the dark eyes rested heavily upon his arm.

"You are injured, do you require medical assistance?" Spock inquired, his tone softening.

"What?" Jim glanced down to the giant bruise, his hand reaching for the tender flesh again, cringing again at the touch before his display of discomfort receded. "I'm fine."

An eyebrow arched on the boy's face, "_Fine_ is not an adequate response as it is vague on its description. If you are in need of treatment, it is my duty that you receive it." The dark eyes again briefly glanced up to his face before averting away.

Jim frowned at him, "Are you…a slave?" He had read about them in one of his history books, how they would attend to your every need without a choice. His father never owned slaves, paying those who worked in the palace, including the maids, and allowed them to return to their respectable homes after their shifts. Mother had wanted it that way as well, said it would teach Sam and him how to attend to their needs without growing an unhealthy dependence.

The boy physically flinched at the word, his eyes sliding closed, "I am indeed your personal servant, Your Highness."

Jim opened his mouth to say something when the door swished open, the guard taking a few steps into the room.

"It's been long enough. I thought you had been made aware it is against the law for a subordinate to speak to the royal family unless spoken to, you little elf." He growled, marching towards them, fists clenched.

Jim glared up at the man, "Hey, I did ask him questions and he answered!" Jim snapped.

The guard ignored him, grasping ahold of the boy's arm causing Jim to react, lashing out, his hand gripping onto the man's arm, attempting to pry him off.

"Get off of him!" He cried, ripping the guard's sleeve as he tugged.

"Prince James!" The man exclaimed, using his free hand to shove Jim away with enough force for him to stumble backwards against the bed. "You are out of line. I will inform your Father of your behavior at once. In the meantime, you are to remain here." The man hissed before pivoting on his heel, dragging the boy out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

Jim trembled with anger, he hated the guards, and most of all he hated the man who wore his father's crown. Clenching his fists, he shouted as loud as he could, hoping that his voice carried through the thick doors and into the hallways just beyond.

"He is _not _my father!"

* * *

**A/N: Oh boy, so I'm very new to complete AU fics. Just trying to maneuver a bit out of my comfort zone, hopefully this turned out okay so far…Thank you for reading and please review!**


	2. Chapter One

**A/N: I apologize for all the gobbledy-goop you're about to read pertaining to the history of the kingdom. Hopefully it doesn't turn out too weird… **

* * *

**Heir**

* * *

**Chapter One**

* * *

**8 years later.**

Jim stared solemnly out the window, he had dreaded this day for months. It was the eighteenth anniversary of his father's passing along with it ironically being the day of Jim's birth. King George had been a passionate and attentive ruler, inheriting the kingdom of Earth from his half-brother, King Christopher Pike after falling fatally ill. Shortly after Christopher's passing, George had met and fallen in love with a peasant woman during a routine survey of the inner city. As there were no constitutions in which the King was tied to, he was free to marry her, appointing her as Earth's new Queen and thus resulting in the first heir only a year later: Prince George Samuel Kirk.

Earth flourished under his rule, resulting in a high economy growth along with the formation a strong backboned military force: The Federation of Planets that served as a protection for Earth against hostile forces. All seemed peaceful until Earth fell under attack by a fleet of Romulan ships. George sprang into action, attending to the Federation, aiding them in the fight against the invaders. A King who fully believed in protecting those under his rule, he died in battle by collision of his ship with that of the last Romulan vessel, ending the first universal war. He left his wife, Queen Winona with temporary rule until marriage or the first born son reached of age.

Frank had been a childhood friend of Winona's and was the sole comfort in the months following his father's demise. A man who deceived Jim to be a kind and well-rounded rapidly turned to be a ruthless tyrant upon receiving the crown once they had married. The stable economy crumbled before them as he appointed remarkable taxes that plunged the cities into financial ruin. He quickly applied the threat of force, using the military the previous King had solely intended for protection against those who dared to rebel, sentencing them to spend the remainder of their lives as Klingon slaves on _Rura Penthe._

Power hungry, King Frank ordered the Federation to seek out and conquer planets in an attempt at gaining an extended empire, claiming it as a precautionary measure to ensure the longevity of Earth and the Human race. The King succeeded, resulting in the downfall of Vulcan, attaining the habitants and forcing them into slavery.

And that was how their race came to work at the palace. That was how Jim had come to know Spock and it disgusted him that he had to meet him in such a disheartening way. Only learning of these events from documents he had found in a secret compartment in the cellar.

The small breeze caressed Jim's face as he rested his chin upon his arm, taking in the mixture of colors of the rising sun. He loathed this day, wishing that his mother had never been acquainted with Frank. But he was hopeful, Sam was approaching the respective age to be appointed King and as the first blood heir to the throne, he was allowed to overthrow the King if he wished, and Jim spent countless evenings in his brother's room discussing Sam's plans to do so once he was capable.

There was a soft knock at the door and Jim called for them to enter. The door slid open as the familiar Vulcan strode inside, a silver tray clutched in his hands.

"Good morning." Jim smiled weakly at him before returning his attention out the window.

"Good morning, Your Highness, I assume you have slept adequately?"

Jim sighed. He hadn't slept at all; he felt the heaviness of his eyes, fighting to keep them from sliding shut. Soft footfalls approached him, the clanging of the tray echoing in the small room as Spock placed it upon the flat surface by the window before straightening himself and folding his arms behind his back.

"Are you well, Your Highness?" He asked gently and the tone caused Jim to glance up to him from the bench he was perched on.

The young Vulcan boy had grown into a lean man with stoic and unflawed features. Spock had proven to be incredibly intelligent, even after being deprived of an education whilst in the palace, he had learned beyond his years before he was transported to Earth as a slave. On occasion, Jim had caught him reciting algorithms to himself or studying a type of plant in the garden with such intensity, Jim felt the need to observe him quietly instead of drawing his attention. It was rare for the slaves to wander about the grounds at leisure, and whenever Jim would catch one wandering about, he'd quickly retreat, allowing them the simple pleasure of freedom while they had it.

"I'm all right, Spock." Jim said flatly, "Just tired. And for the last time, _please _call me Jim." He pleaded, waving his arms in emphasis.

"I cannot, Your Highness, it is—"

"Not permissible, I know." Jim interjected solemnly. "I just wish after all these years you'd be comfortable enough to call me that in the privacy of my room at least." He sighed heavily.

Spock tilted his head, his eyebrows furrowing slightly before his face deadened, eyes alive with something Jim couldn't quite place.

"My apologies, I was not aware that refraining from the use of your name caused you distress. If this is a direct order, I will be inclined to do so."

Jim deflated a little, realizing he hadn't quite conveyed the message correctly. He wanted the Vulcan to be at ease around him, to feel that when he was alone with Jim, he didn't have to play the role of the ever vigilant servant. Jim wanted him to know he was safe.

He shook his head, "No, not a direct order. If you want to call me that, you can. I won't get mad at you if you do." He issued a small smile.

Something flickered in the chocolate irises, so fleeting, Jim nearly missed it.

The Vulcan nodded curtly, "I shall take it into consideration, Your Highness."

Jim huffed, rising from the bench, rubbing feverishly at his eyes. They ached immensely and he wished nothing more than to climb into bed and sleep this miserable day away. There would be a celebration today but it would be underlined with sorrow and grief and he desired nothing more than to avoid it altogether. Not to mention, being forced to be in his stepfather's presence which he detested.

"Spock." Jim's hand fell away from his face, scrutinizing the Vulcan whose eyebrows rose slightly in response.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Could I ask a favor of you?" Jim inquired tentatively.

An eyebrow arched on the stoic face in response and Jim grinned.

"What is it you desire?"

Jim shifted his weight, clearing his throat before replying, "I want to see the city. Could you…cover for me while I'm gone?"

The eyebrow arched higher, "I do not understand."

"You know, if anyone asks where I am, say I'm out in the gardens or something."

Spock's head ticked to the side, "Vulcans cannot lie."

Jim huffed in frustration, "Fine, then exaggerate the truth. Just…I need to get away today." He turned his back on the Vulcan, hiding the pain he knew was plastered on his face. "I need an escape for a while."

"Your Highness is forbidden from departing the palace perimeter and such action may result in severe consequences." His voice had grown soft, something underlining his tone. Concern, possibly?

"I know." Jim murmured, "Listen, just forget I mentioned it."

* * *

He wasn't sure how he managed to persuade Spock to leave him alone, but before he knew it he was slipping passed the guards at the gate, jogging down the street until he reached the city limits. Jim marveled at the shambles the buildings were in, people roamed the streets with vacant expressions, attending to their daily lives in a sort of autopilot, hardly noticing as Jim passed them by wearing higher quality garments. He awed at the disarray of their clothing, tattered and torn as though in consistent use. It was disheartening to see how much Frank's rule had hurt them.

Jim eyed a half hinged sign on a building; he squinted at it but couldn't make out the faded words on the wood. He traipsed over to it, jerking the old wooden door open and strode inside. The pub was dim, nearly empty with only a few customers drinking and whispering amongst themselves.

"Haven't seen you around these parts before, you new in town?" The man behind the bar asked with a southern drawl, wiping a glass with a rag, scrutinizing him with suspicion.

Jim glanced at the small group of people who had stopped whispering and were now staring at him before shuffling to the bar, taking a seat on the padded stool, a smile twitching at the side of his mouth.

"Yeah, I'm new. Have any recommendations while I'm here?"

The bartender's face was crestfallen as he spoke, "Nothing worth your while. Are you of drinking age, kid?" The old man grumbled, leaning over the bar, attempting to make out Jim's facial features in the dim lighting.

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't. In fact it's my birthday, care to spot me one?" He grinned.

The man snorted, "Not unless you plan to purchase something afterward, I have to make a living, you know."

Jim reached into his pockets, pulling forth a small bag and spilling the contents onto the wooden surface. The gold shone brightly despite the poor lighting and the bartender's eyebrows rose in surprise, plucking one up, studying it in-between his fingers.

"Is that enough for a few drinks?" Jim inquired; the grin widening.

"Kid, this is enough to buy every drop of alcohol I have in stock! Where'd you get this kind of money?" He narrowed his eyes at Jim, "What's your name?"

Jim swallowed thickly, "I'm no one of importance."

The man rolled his eyes, "Right. Seriously kid, you could at least attempt to conjure up a better lie. My daughter can be more convincing and _she's six._" He pivoted, reaching for a bottle on the shelf behind him before returning back to the bar; spilling the liquid from the bottle into the glass he had cleaned and set it down in front of Jim. "This one's on me."

Jim gripped the glass and nodded to him, "Thanks."

Hours passed as Jim indulged in the fiery liquids. By the time the sun began to set he found the room was spinning, his stomach lurching in protest, perspiration gathering on his brow from the heat flaring through his body. He sighed heavily, relief rushing over him as he realized he had succeeded in avoiding this retched day. But as he slipped from the stool and stumbled towards the door, a voice shouted from behind him.

"Hey! I know you!" Jim whirled around to find one of the men who had been sitting with the group stalking over to him, his hands clenched, face contorted with rage. "You're the palace brat who lives in luxury while the rest of us struggle to survive." His words slurred heavily as he closed to the distance between them.

Jim scoffed at him, his mind reeling, attempting to recall how the man recognized him. It was only until the burly man was within inches of him; towering over him did Jim recognize him. He was the guard who had been fired after beating Jim to a pulp when he was thirteen after calling the man "Cupcake". Frank had been off planet, attending to the Federation when his mother had walked in on the scene, immediately firing him, keeping her decision on the matter from the King. Jim glared at the man, his fists clenching.

"Yeah and what are you going to do about it?" Jim baited, taking a small unbalanced step into the man's personal space. "You really let yourself go Cupcake, such a shame you couldn't amount to anything." His words slurred, patting the man's cheek, issuing a cocky grin.

"Someone needs to teach you some damn manners, boy." The man growled.

Jim laughed and turned his back on him, fully intending to leave when a hand clamped down onto his shoulder, whirling him around in time for a fist to collide with his jaw, the force of the blow knocking him backward against a table. A copper taste spilled into his mouth and as Cupcake advanced on him, he swung a fist clumsily, catching the man in the arm before stumbling into him, the alcohol crippling his motor skills. Cupcake gripped his arms, bending him slightly before a knee sunk deep into his midsection, stealing the breath from his body as he crumpled to the floor.

He wheezed in a breath just as the man's foot connected with his chest with a small crack, eliciting a pained cry from him. He curled himself into a protective ball as the assaults continued; feeling the painful memory of the last time the man had managed to defeat him.

He heard an "oomph" and the assaults abruptly stopped. Jim peered over his arm, attempting to focus on the man fighting Cupcake through vertigo vision. The man easily overpowered Cupcake, swinging a powerful fist, hearing a loud crunch as it connected with his nose, blood spraying from the contact. After a few more clumsy swings stemming from Cupcake, the man reached out, placing a hand against his neck and Cupcake instantly stilled before collapsing onto the ground with a loud thud.

Jim cursed under his breath, shakily rising to all fours, feeling his stomach heave as the world reeled before him. He bowed his head, retching the contents of his stomach onto the floor, moaning.

A hand suddenly touched his back gently and her jerked in alarm as another hand rested against his forehead, easing him backward until he rested against a solid body.

"Dammit! I'm tired of this shit!" He heard the bartender shout from somewhere in the distance, "Don't move him, I'll be right back." He heard the swishing of a door and he groaned into the person holding him, his eyes sliding shut against the spinning, swallowing the copper liquid in his mouth with a gag.

The hand brushed soothingly over his forehead and he melted into the touch, making small appreciative noises as he lied there feeling miserable.

The swishing noise echoed in the room again, followed by the grumbling of the bartender. He heard the man kneel beside him, none too quietly and a sudden growl vibrated in the person's chest who held him before there was a loud gasp.

"Dammit, man, what are you doing? I'm trying to help him."

"I'm unaware of your intentions with the device, how do I know it will not harm him?" The man growled lowly, the tone sending shivers down Jim's spine.

There was a frustrated huff, "I used to be a doctor. I still have my credentials to prove it." There was a palpable silence followed by a rustling noise before the man spoke again, "There, now if it's to your satisfaction, could you release my arm? I would like to help the Prince, it's the least I can do for an old friend."

Jim wanted to ask what the old bartender had meant by "an old friend" and how he had figured out his royal status but was stopped by a quick sting in his neck. He cried out with a flurry of curses, his hand whipping up to gingerly rub the area.

"What the hell was that?" Jim exclaimed, blinking through bleary vision up to the bartender who leaned over him, his body steadily feeling like a weight was pressing down upon him.

"It's a mild sedative; it'll keep you from causing more damage to yourself so he can get you home." The man groused, "You're exactly like him, you know."

"What…" Jim's voice trailed off as he felt himself steadily being sucked under. His eyes strained to glance up to the man who had rescued him, whether he had wanted to be or not, and was startled to see the familiar dark eyes staring down at him. "Spo—"

"Be still, Your Highness, you are safe." The tone was soft, something stirring beneath those eyes. Jim wished he could decipher the emotion they held. But before he could utter another word, a black void crept over his vision, tugging him gently into a peaceful darkness.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading and please review!**


	3. Chapter Two

**Heir**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

* * *

The first thing his mind comprehended was the bed he was lying on, had his bed always been this soft? It was quite comfortable until his body sluggishly registered the pounding in his skull, the aching in his body, and the nausea burning up his throat. He groaned and grimaced as a sharp pain shot through his jaw, his hand reached up, rubbing along the tender bone gingerly, attempting to sooth it. Jim felt a heat surge through him as another wave of nausea coursed through his body and moaned, shifting his head against the damp pillow under his head. Lethargy settled upon him which caused him to be even more sensitive to the pain. "Miserable" was an understatement.

A sudden cool, wet rag pressed against his face, dabbing gently over his features, a welcomed relief to the intense burning of his skin. His eyes fluttered open, observing the way the pale delicate hand moved over his face before steadily retreating once the rag had lost its chill. He followed it until his eyes connected with the dark brown orbs of the Vulcan, who stood stiffly beside the bed.

"Spock, what…" He trailed off as he observed the ugly green and yellow bruising along his jawline, a similar set of dark rings decorated the pale skin of his neck. Anger surged through Jim at the sight, his own discomfort momentarily lost. "Who was it?" He demanded as he glanced back to his face to find the dark eyes averted away.

The Vulcan tensed, remaining silent as he fixated on a single point distantly across the room.

"As I was remiss with my responsibility to sustain your state of wellbeing, discipline is highly acceptable given my repugnant actions."

Jim blinked at him, allowing his words to seep in.

"Dammit!" Jim bolted up, feet swinging over the side, "I can't _believe _him!" He nearly shouted as he stumbled from the bed, vision narrowing on a brash thought. So engrossed with the idea of hunting the bastard down, he neglected to assess his own health and was immediately struck with surprise at a strong urge of nausea that flooded over him before promptly bowing his head, spewing the remnants of the alcohol he had consumed the day before onto the marble flooring.

Staggering to the wall, he leaned heavily against it as he regained his bearings. Forgetting completely that he had never touched a single drop of alcohol in his life previous to the other day, and thus resulting in his ignorance over how his body would react due to the high consumption of the substance. He had observed Sam returning home intoxicated on numerous occasions, and then would watch in awe as he'd casually traipse down the hallway the next day absent of any lingering effects with a small spring to his step. With his new found realization of just what the fiery liquid could result in, he was pretty convinced that his brother couldn't possibly be Human.

"Your Highness, you must return to bed as you are unwell." Spock approached him, placing a gentle hand on his back. It had taken a few years for Jim to figuratively beat the concept that he _was _allowed to touch him if necessary, and was silently relieved that the Vulcan had begun to feel comfortable enough to do just that.

Jim glanced at Spock, another wave of nausea flowing over him. He cursed his body for betraying him; not allowing him to confront the man who did this and tear him a new one. Accidentally slipping one day a few years prior how he loathed the way Vulcans were treated, the King relished in this fact and took great pride in ordering the guards to distribute physical "discipline" with the knowledge that it would initially upset him. Those who were consistently within close proximity of Jim appeared to receive the brunt of it.

Which made Jim absolutely livid.

"Spock, it's not your fault." He lamented, "You didn't do anything to deserve that." Then he paused, "Where else were you hurt?"

The Vulcan stared impassively.

"My wellbeing is irrelevant, Your Highness, your health is first priority." His other hand reached up and gripped Jim's elbow gently, guiding him back towards the bed.

"I'm _fine_, really." Jim grumbled as he was firmly pushed down onto it, feeling like an infant as Spock draped the blankets over him. God, he really didn't need him to coddle him like he was an invalid. After listening to a long string of irritated sounds emanating from Jim, the Vulcan re-soaked the rag before leaning over the bed again. Jim quickly halted his hand as it approached, curling his fingers around Spock's wrist, causing him to instantly still. "I'm sorry." He relented, not meeting his eyes.

There was a pregnant silence as Jim relinquished his wrist, keeping his sight focused on the pale hand as he noticed trembled ever so slightly. If it had been further away, he probably would've missed it. It fell away from him as he heard a shaky intake of breath beside him.

"Thank you…Jim."

The response floored him as his eyes shot up to the Vulcan whose own eyes were downcast, a faint flush of green dancing across his cheeks. Jim sat stunned for a moment before snapping back to his senses as heat surged in his face, and this time he knew it wasn't caused by the massive hangover.

"You called me Jim." He whispered dumbfounded.

The Vulcan thawed a little, his eyes softening as he opened his mouth to respond but was abruptly cut off as the door to the bedroom hissed open.

"So I hear you took the liberty of celebrating your birthday _without _me." Sam chided as he marched over to the bed.

"I wouldn't call it much of a celebration." Jim muttered; glancing at Spock whose previous ease receded briskly, returning to a rigid stance as his arms folded behind his back.

"Oh yeah?" Sam smirked, arms folding at his chest, "Looks that way to _me_. Sneaking off, getting plastered, engaging in bar fights—sounds like a grand old time!"

Jim rolled his eyes then instantly regretted it as the world swayed, bile burning at the back of his throat. He moaned, burying his face into his hands.

"Go away."

"Oh no, I'm not going anywhere!" Sam clambered onto the bed, wrapping an arm around Jim's neck, pulling him into him, pinning him against his chest as his free hand balling into a fist, roughly rubbing it into Jim's hair, causing the throbbing to morph into a dense ache.

"Let go!" Jim protested weakly, struggling against the iron grip.

Sam laughed, "Say it!"

"No!" Jim wriggled but failed to free himself.

"Say it!"

"_Fine_! You're the best brother, more handsome, and I'm not worthy to bask in your sheer awesomeness. Now, would you let me go?" He whined and Sam released him wearing a triumphant smile.

"See? Now was that so hard to say?" He inquired with mirth, arms folding behind his head as he leaned back against the headboard.

Jim glowered at him.

"I ought to clobber you." He growled incisively.

"I'd love to see you try, little brother." Sam grinned, one hand slipping from the back of his head to ruffle Jim's sweaty hair. "You look like hell by the way."

"Yeah, well I _feel_ like it too." He sighed before realizing that Spock was still standing there beside the bed like his own personal Vulcan statue. Though, one eyebrow was slightly raised and Jim quickly understood that he was extremely perplexed by their behavior. Vulcans were all about logic and the half-friendly banter Sam and him partook in consistently wouldn't fall under that category. If Jim had lived with people who suppressed emotion, it'd probably baffle him too.

"Hey." Sam asserted towards Spock, "Think you can give us a minute alone?"

The Vulcan inclined his head, "Of course, Your Highness." He slightly bowed his head before pivoting on his heel and swiftly exited the room.

Jim narrowed his eyes at his brother who instantly lost his easygoing demeanor once they were alone.

"What's going on?" Jim demanded, recognizing the uneasy serious expression on his brother's face.

Sam averted his gaze, face contorting in anger.

"I'm going off planet for a while."

"What?" Jim exclaimed, bemused by the sudden announcement.

Sam sighed heavily, running a hand through his blond hair, keeping his attention focused away from Jim.

"_Frank _has assigned a mission for me to oversee. Claiming it would be beneficial to the future sovereign." He spat through gritted teeth. "It's…" he trailed off, "He wants me to oversee another conquest of an alien race and its planet."

Jim gaped at him.

"You can't be serious! You're _not _going to go through with it, _are _you?" He said incredulously.

Sam's hands clenched tightly as he whipped his head around, hazel eyes flooding with rage.

"I don't _want _to, but what choice do I have? You _know _what he's capable of if I defy him."

Jim shuddered, remembering full well the day he was ever so happily informed that if he ever were to defy Frank's authority, he'd be shipped off to _Rura Penthe_. Did Jim truly believe Frank's threat? Damn straight he did.

"Sam…" He trailed off, his hand clasping helplessly around his brother's arm.

Sam shook his head before shooting him a weak grin.

"I'll be fine. Think you'll manage without me here to help you worm your way out of trouble?" He teased.

Jim ruffled a little at the comment.

"I'm not an infant; I can take care of myself!" He countered.

"Sure." Sam rolled his eyes, "That's why Spock had to rescue your sorry ass last night, right?"

Jim jerked, a heat leaking back into his face and Sam's eyebrow hiked slightly at his reaction.

"Am I…missing something?" He asked curiously, eyes glittering with mirth.

Jim shot him an indignant glare.

"No! I just got carried away with the alcohol. And I didn't _need _his help; I had everything perfectly under control."

"Not from what I heard." Sam countered, "It sounded like you were getting another ass whooping, like usual."

Jim snorted, "Well you _heard _wrong, I was just wearing him down."

Sam released a harsh, disbelieving laugh.

"Vulcans can't lie, Jim. If it weren't for him, you'd be a mangled mess in a ditch somewhere."

If it were at all possible, the heat in his face intensified. Jim was almost positive that he was red as a tomato by now.

"Shut up, Sam."

A smile spread across Sam's face, not quite reaching his eyes. And for a brief moment, a hint of sorrow fleeted beneath them before disappearing into the hazel depths.

The smile never wavered.

* * *

Weeks had passed with no word from Sam, and the palace felt strangely empty without him. After being swiftly reprimanded by Frank about his grand escapade on his birthday, and retaliating with his own _colorful_ vocabulary over the treatment of Spock, he was confined to his private rooms indefinitely. He was even banned from sharing meals with his mother—which weren't all that exciting anyway, but it appeared that Frank held a distinct desire to cause him as much distress as possible. And damn it all, it was working.

Though, he was elated every time the Vulcan came about, gifting him the small pleasure of company even if only for a brief amount of time.

The reading on the chronometer declared that said Vulcan would be arriving soon with dinner and Jim had full intentions of not allowing him escape once he had finished with his task. Jim hustled as he set up the board on the desk, rearranging the worn pieces upon the squares of black and white. The chess set had once belonged to his father, a prized possession that had been passed down through the generations. Sam was taught by him before his death and thus passed the knowledge to Jim, giving him the game as a present when he broke down sobbing on his fifth birthday.

Another soft knock on the door announced his anticipated party had arrived. He beamed at the Vulcan as he entered before abruptly halting, regarding Jim for a moment.

"Care to play?" Jim offered, extending his hand over the board.

"It is not permissible to engage in frivolous activities, Your Highness. I am required to only attend to my designated duties." Though his tone was firm, Jim couldn't help but notice the curious flicker in his eyes as he glanced over the table.

"Shame." Jim sighed, stretching his back slightly. "I thought you could help me practice the art of strategy. I mean, it would only be _logical _if I exercised this time to my advantage. After all, a Prince is _required_ to be proficient in a vast range of studies."

The Vulcans head ticked to the side as he approached the desk, tray in hand.

"I see. And how would this peculiar form of pastime contribute to such study?"

Jim's smile widened.

"It forces me to strategize, as I said before. I can't very well play this by myself; I'm in need of an opponent."

The eyebrow arched as his eyes ghosted over the board again.

"If the intended purpose is to aid you educationally, I do not possess any disapprobation."

"Is that a yes?" Jim inquired, eyebrows hiking up his face in amusement.

"My duties include attending to your educational needs. I am inclined to accept, Your Highness."

Jim motioned for him to take a seat and after a brief moment of hesitation, the Vulcan placed the tray on the empty side of the table before fluently sitting, scrutinizing the board with great interest. After a few minutes of explaining the rules—nearly finding it disconcerting that the Vulcan understood it so quickly, they commenced.

The game differed vastly between playing with Spock and playing with Sam. Spock was more efficient, calculating, and made it nearly impossible to decipher his moves. Ambushing Jim's most crucial pieces with such swift precision, it caused Jim's head to spin.

"Are you sure you've never played before?" Jim implicated, quickly diverting his knight out of firing range.

"I can assure Your Highness that I was unfamiliar with this particular pastime." His bishop hastily took out the knight he thought he had just rescued.

Jim's eyebrows rose at the comment.

"Wait, are you telling me that you _are_ familiar with other Human games?"

There was a small glimmer to the dark eyes, and if Jim didn't know any better, he thought possibly the Vulcan was…laughing at him?

"Indeed, Your Highness."

"I see." He mumbled, placing his rook directly in the path of Spock's king. "Check." A cocky grin exploded onto his face. The glimmer reappeared and this time Jim was _sure _he was expelling amusement via his eyes. "What?"

Spock took a long pause to scan Jim carefully and Jim could have sworn that a small twitch at the side of his mouth occurred.

"A key essential in strategic contemplation is to not allow oneself to be impaired by distractions or pride." Pale fingers enveloped the black queen as he moved it diagonally across the board, cornering Jim's king. "Checkmate."

Jim gawked at the board, straining to decipher how he had managed to sneak up on him.

"I think you cheated!" He exclaimed, eyes narrowing at the Vulcan.

"If you desire to insinuate foul play, I suggest you refer to the origin of which the rules were presented."

He blinked in stunned silence as he sluggishly realized Spock was _making fun_ of him. Jim had never seen him be so open with him before, even if he was sitting rigid as a board with a vacant expression. Spock was actually…_socializing_ with him.

There was a sudden knock on the door, causing Jim to jump in his seat. Spock ascended fluidly from the chair, padding across the room before releasing the door, revealing another Vulcan. He loomed in the doorway, much older than Spock, fingers threading in front of him as he pinpointed Jim with a hard gaze.

"Your Highness, the King and Queen request an audience with you." His voice almost sounded bitter or mildly disgusted as he addressed him.

"Did they mention what it's about?" He inquired, rising from his chair as well.

The Vulcan nodded curtly.

"Yes." He stated flatly, "It pertains to the elder Prince."

Jim paled.

_Sam._

* * *

**A/N: Sorry there wasn't much excitement in this chapter, but thanks for reading and please review! **


	4. Chapter Three

**Heir**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

* * *

"Prince George Samuel Kirk will not be forgotten. Let his sacrifice be commemorated as an act of protection for his planet and its people."

Jim was half listening as he stood before his brother's coffin, the hues of the wood mingling together in his bleary vision. Somewhere off in the distance, he could hear sobbing—a gut wrenching, heart constricting sob that formed a hard lump in his throat. That was the last sound he'd ever wanted to hear, his mother's heart shattering sorrow piercing him deep.

The chill of the weather bit at his exposed skin, winter clouds rolling in with the breeze. Although the weather was cold, it didn't compare to the ice in his veins. His body so numb, he'd swear he would never regain feeling again. His brother, best friend—gone, all that remained was a grim horizontal box.

It was unjust, unfair.

He glanced over just as his mother curled into Frank, weeping. An arm snaked around her waist before his gaze sought Jim out, a small grin forming on his features. Jim bristled; a red haze overlapping the blurry vision, a rush of heated rage pulsated through him, melting the ice from his body. His hands clenched tightly, the nails digging into the skin of his palm, small droplets of warm liquid dribbled down his fingers.

Sam was dead and the bastard was smiling.

Jim had to get out of there.

Pivoting on his heel, he marched from the ceremony, ignoring the garbled pleas to return from his mother. He picked up his pace, dashing through the cemetery gates and back onto the palace grounds. Memories flipping through his mind at an intense rate—all the times Sam had defended him against Frank, the times Sam would sneak into his room to keep him company whilst he was confined to it. The memories replayed over and over until he found himself standing at the far corner of the gardens, gazing at the familiar Vulcan who was attending to the flowers, covering them with a tarp in preparation of the approaching winter.

The Vulcan halted, turning toward Jim, "Your Highness?"

This wasn't his initial intention, he had wanted to find a bar, or someone willing to fight him to relieve the rage, but instead he sought out the Vulcan. Without much though, tears streaming down his face, he took a few large strides and bridged the gap between them. His arms wrapping impulsively around Spock's torso, burying his head against the coarse fabric of his coat, he wept. For a moment he didn't want to be the Prince, for a moment he didn't want to be the kid who lost his father and brother tragically. He just wanted to be Jim and be vulnerable.

Comfort—all he required in this moment was comfort.

Spock stiffened slightly at the close contact before his strong arms warily snaked around him. As soon as the Vulcan had initiated the comforting gesture, he slouched into him, releasing all the built up sorrow and rage. Words were spilling from Jim's lips but he had no comprehension to what he was saying, his knees buckled and Spock gently eased him to the ground, arms still cradling him.

Jim cried until he was absent of tears, empty and hollowed out. Exhausted, he rested limply against the Vulcan, only now realizing he was whispering something in a strange language. He listened quietly to the words as they strangely consoled him, and the tension ebbed. After a few more moments, Spock quieted.

"Jim?" He spoke low, voice husky in the shell of his ear.

Jim's body trembled as he detangled himself from the embrace, averting his gaze.

"I'm sorry." He croaked, "I'm sure that was uncomfortable for you."

"I was not burdened."

Heat crept into his face and he nodded. Staggering back onto his feet, Jim turned away from the Vulcan, regaining his bearings.

"Thank you." He whispered.

* * *

"What was the reason for sending him? You _know _how the Romulans are!" Jim shouted, face red with rage. After hacking into the Federation databanks, he quickly learned that Sam's secret mission was to attempt to conquer Romulus and its surrounding empire. After reading the information, he promptly marched to the throne room to confront Frank.

This was the last straw.

"The reasons are between the Federation and I, you were not authorized to obtain those records." He growled, taking a daunting step forward.

Jim returned the step, breaching the invisible bubble of personal space, his face inches from the man.

"I'm not an idiot. I know the Federation had nothing to do with this." Jim whispered indignantly, "What's wrong? Couldn't handle the fact that Sam would eventually take the throne? Terrified that once you were stripped of power, you'd be paid tenfold for all your damning decisions?" He goaded, "You're pathetic." He spat.

Frank's face tinted red before a small bitter smile spread across his face.

"Even if that were true, what can _you _do about it?" He whispered, the smile remaining.

Jim sincerely wished his mother was present for this, but she was hauled up in her room mourning. The guards who were present would never vouch his credibility. He was treading in dangerous waters.

"You won't get away with this." Jim hissed, eyes narrowing.

The smile broadened and something snapped inside him.

Jim was unsure as to when he had moved, his brain sluggishly registering his fist colliding with the man's jaw. Stunned for a fleeting moment, he quickly blocked the counter strike, ducking as Frank swung at his head. Jim lunged at him, sending both of them careening onto the floor, not allowing him much time to recover before connecting his fist with Frank's face again.

As he continued his string of blows, strong hands suddenly latched onto both his arms, hauling him up off of Frank. The guards yanked his arms behind him, holding him firmly in place as Frank scrambled to his feet, a hand wiping away the blood on the side of his mouth.

"You shouldn't have done that." Frank growled, approaching Jim and the guards, leaning close to Jim's face. "I thought by now you'd learn not to test me." He hissed.

Jim spat in his face.

Frank sneered, wiping the spittle with the back of his hand, eyes darkening with malicious intent. Balling his hand into a fist, Frank sunk it deep into his diaphragm, eliciting a pained sound as Jim's body bent slightly from the blow, winding him. Without allowing much time for Jim to recover, another fist struck Jim's face, his head rocked to the side, a copper flavor spilled into his mouth. The guards held him still as Frank continued the assaults, his ears rang loudly, warm liquid spilled from the sides of his mouth, his left eye swelled, constricting his ability to see.

Jim's head drooped as he fought to stay conscious; black framed his vision, steadily eating its way to the center. A hand clasped tightly around his throat, restricting his air flow. He choked; his chest ablaze as he struggled to inhale.

"Not so tough now, are you?" He hissed in his face. "You've been a pain in my ass for too long."

He was blacking out, his body screaming for air, blood roaring in his ears.

Then the hand disappeared and he was thrown forcefully to the floor. Hacking violently, air hissed down his throat as he desperately inhaled, the black edges in his vision receding. The room erupted in chaos, scuffling and shouting echoing around him. The world spun as he lied on the cool marbled floor, mind reeling with the commotion.

Two figures soon loomed over him. One bent down, gripping the collar of his shirt, hoisting him up to his feet as the other latched onto his arm. His head bobbed and he blinked through blurry vision toward the second set of guards struggling to detain a dark figure.

"I want him executed as soon as possible!" Frank shouted and Jim watched him gesture to the figure whose features slowly became clear that it was Spock. "And as for _you_." He stalked over to Jim, gripping his chin tight enough to bruise, "I hereby banish you under penalty of treason. No one is to show you any kindness or compassion, and those who do will be immediately incriminated." He spat, roughly shoving his head backward before addressing the guards, "Get him out of my sight."

The guards shoved him forward and he stumbled along as they lead him through the palace. The cold air struck him as they exited the main doors, gasping at the sudden shock. Grey clouds loomed overhead, flakes of snow drifted down, gathering in his hair as he was half dragged through the front gardens. He was flung from the gates unconcernedly, landing hard onto the cobbled street, his arm scrapping against the coarse surface.

Jim lied there briefly before rolling onto his stomach, pushing himself to all fours before staggering onto his feet.

_Spock._

He didn't have much time.

Darting from the entrance gates, he rounded the stone wall until he reached a group of large bushes. They scratched the skin at his palm as he shoved the branches aside, revealing the small crevice in the stone. Sam had admitted to Jim one evening that this was his way of escape when he decided to flee the palace on occasion. Jim slipped through it with ease, hunched over as he crept through the rows of bushes on the palace grounds until he reached a weathered wooden door. After years of studying Frank's habits, he knew this would be the only place they would've brought him.

Keying in the override on the keypad, the door clicked and he barged inside. A narrow stretch of stairs were dimly lit by a few overhanging lights and he stumbled down them, grasping the wall to prevent himself from falling, his swollen eye stealing half his vision. The further he descended, the chillier the air became, white puffs formed with each exhale.

Jim rounded the corner and let out a small relieved breath. The dungeon was empty of its usual patrol of guards and he sauntered down the rows of deserted cells, heart pounding, anxious. They couldn't have carried out the execution this quickly. Frank would want an audience, assert his authority, instill the fear of his power over all those below him. But as Jim weaved his way through the narrow walkways with no signs of the Vulcan, a tiny string of fear stirred inside, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach.

"Spock!" He cried hoarsely, panic coating his voice.

There was no reply.

His heart hammered against his chest as he rounded another corner.

"Spock!"

"Jim?" A muffled voice echoed from a distance.

He sprinted towards the sound, exiting the main dungeon into the solitary confinement section.

"Spock?" He inquired hastily, sliding open a few view panels of the metal doors to peer inside.

"I am here, Your Highness."

Jim whirled around to the cell behind him, sliding open the view panel and a set of dark eyes slid into view. He sighed with relief before turning his attention to the keypad. Fingers trembled as he typed in the override code, but a loud obnoxious beep blared as it was denied. He cursed under his breath. Taking a small step backward, he raised his leg, kicking at the pad with his boot until it loosened.

He ripped the keypad from the door, cursing as a wire sparked, singing him. He fumbled with the mechanism clumsily, straining to focus with one eye functional. After a few agonizing minutes, the metal door clicked as it unlocked and he yanked it open forcefully. The Vulcan remained rooted in the center of the cell. Scrutinizing Jim was a heavy gaze.

"Spock, let's go." Jim breathed.

"I cannot."

Jim paused.

"Why?"

"I have assaulted the King. My imprisonment and sentence is justifiable." He stated, arms clasping at the small of his back.

Jim groaned in frustration.

"Spock, please, I can't just leave—"

He was cut off as a sudden streak of red barreled passed him and singed the metal door frame. He ducked as another one fired at the spot where his head had been. The guard grunted, rushing at Jim, tackling him to the floor, stealing the breath from his body. The man didn't get far as a pale hand latched onto the crook of his neck, stilling instantly before collapsing with dead weight on top of Jim.

Spock rolled the man from Jim before aiding him from the floor.

"Thanks." Jim wheezed, bending down to strip the man of his coat and phaser. The coat was twice his build and it hung loosely over his frame. He pocketed the phaser before turning back to face Spock. "Come with me, I can't allow you to die." He pleaded.

After a moment of contemplation, the Vulcan nodded silently.

"Let's go." His head jerked, indicating to follow him.

Spock complied, trailing after him as they maneuvered through the maze of the dungeon. The adrenaline pumped through Jim's veins, rounding each corner with caution, silently relieved when there was no further resistance. They scurried up the stairs and out the door before making a mad dash back to the inconspicuous crevice. Shouts rang out along with phaser fire, the beams soaring over their heads into the stone wall beside them.

They slipped through and darted into the forest beside the wall, dodging trees and bushes as they ran. The flurries of snow fell faster, stinging at Jim's uninjured eye. The daylight faded as the sun set, they had to find shelter, had to place as much distance between them and the castle as possible.

"Your Highness, this way." Spock called to him, causing him to whip around to see the Vulcan take off in a different direction. Stumbling sideways, he hastily ensued until they reached a secluded cavern, nestled behind the cover of shrubbery.

They entered the small enclosed space and Jim collapsed to the ground, panting heavily.

"Your Highness, we must attain a heat source for the duration of the night."

Jim nodded, fishing the phaser from his pocket and aimed it at a boulder toward the center of the cave. He fired until the rock heated to a dark orange hue, glowing dimly in the subtle darkness. He scooted toward it, relishing in heat as Spock settled beside him. A silence draped over them, and Jim shifted uncomfortably.

"Spock." Jim began, still winded.

"Your Highness, I insist you rest, you have fatigued with the physical exertion." Spock cut him off, averting his gaze, avoiding the conversation.

Jim sighed, "I suppose."

Spock nodded, moving around to the other side to allow him to lie down. Jim's mind was still reeling with the recent events as he listened to the soft even breaths of Spock as he fell into a deep slumber. Even with the boulder emanating heat, it was still incredibly chilly inside the cave. Vulcans were intolerant to the cold, weren't they?

He shifted from his position on the ground, shedding the coat before laying it gently over the peaceful form of the Vulcan. Jim took a moment to stare at him; he seemed incredibly serene, oddly vulnerable. Why had he rescued Jim? How had he even been aware he was in danger?

Jim sighed.

What was he going to do?

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading and please review!**


	5. Chapter Four

**A/N: Fluff is so cute when both parties don't recognize it. Plus protective Spock makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Heir**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

* * *

At some point in the night the boulder had cooled, allowing the negative degree weather to filter into the cavern. Jim awoke to a stiff body, shaking violently from the cold, his fingers and arms numb and tinted a purple complexion. Despite the chill, a fire flared through him, his throat sore, feeling extremely nauseous. He moaned, turning onto his side, curling himself into a tight ball before succumbing to a coughing fit, tears stinging at the sides of his eyes.

Scorching hands lightly grasped his arm, shaking him gently.

"Your Highness?"

Jim coughed again before he croaked, "Y-yeah, Spock?"

A hand slid away from his arm before gently pressing against his forehead. It was strange that the Vulcan was initiating the Human gesture of testing for a fever. Jim would have to inquire about how he obtained this knowledge at some point—just as soon as he felt he wasn't about to spew the contents of last night's dinner.

"You are feverish and appear to have fallen ill." Spock stated and after a small pause continued softly, "Why did you subject yourself to the extreme temperatures by placing your coat upon me?"

Jim glanced up at him through bleary vision, the dim daylight streaming in through the shrubbery, the clouds still coating the sky in a blanket of grey. Why had he done that? Jim knew the heat source wouldn't last through the entire night, however, he didn't exactly regret the action.

"You w-were cold." His sentence ended with another violent cough, hand clutching at his sore throat, face contorting in pain.

Spock's lips parted slightly, eyebrows lifting. The Vulcan remained eerily still for a few moments, regarding Jim with a peculiar expression before removing the hand from Jim's face to divest himself of his coat.

"Spock, n-no." Jim feebly protested, hand extending to stop him. "Y-you need that."

"You require warmth at this moment as you are susceptible to several ailments." He stated, rolling Jim over and aiding him into a sitting position. Once again Jim felt like a coddled child as Spock helped guide his arms through the sleeves before grabbing the guard's coat, wrapping it around Jim's frame.

He hadn't realized just how ill he was until he was wrapped in the layers of cloth. Jim swayed; collapsing sideways against Spock's chest, teeth chattering as he sluggishly curled himself back into a protective ball. A strong arm snaked around his back, hand clasping his shoulder to hold him steady, the Vulcan's body heat mingling with the heat of his face, still feeling cold despite having a fever. He pressed his numb hands against Spock's torso, and was shocked as the Vulcan allowed him to do so.

"S-Spock…" Jim whispered hoarsely.

"Jim." He froze at the soft tone of Spock's voice, the Vulcan's hand rising, gently cupping his cheek. "Preserve your energy." Dark eyes twinkled with an emotion Jim couldn't place and before he could reply, Spock had scooped him off the ground, cradling him against him as he fluently stood. "I believe the immediate danger has passed, we may maneuver freely through the city without resistance. You require immediate treatment."

"Spock, if anyone helps me th-they'll be arrested." Jim muttered through his chattering teeth, feeling the Vulcan's body trembling diminutively, assuming it was due to the low temperature of the cavern.

Spock nodded curtly, "Yes, however, we have an ally."

"Wha—?"

Spock cut him off as he traipsed from the cave and through the shrubbery. Jim squinted from the sudden brightness, moaning his discomfort before conjuring up the strength to begin a conversation but to no avail. Spock was insistent about him refraining from speaking and he eventually gave into the Vulcan's silence, his throat throbbing and voice cracking with each word uttered. Letting out an audible breath, he rested his head in the crook of his neck, allowing the soft even breaths and crunches of Spock's feet stepping through the snow lull him into a light slumber, only awaking to random waves of violent coughing.

As they reached the edge of the city, Jim felt the Vulcan's once fluent movements begin to stiffen, his breathing labored slightly, and the radiating heat of his body fading. The tremble had intensified, grip weakening. Spock didn't give away his discomfort, staring blankly ahead. Jim scrutinized his face with concern as they maneuvered through the deserted streets, too early for people to be out and about which Jim was grateful for.

They approached a familiar area and he quickly acknowledged to whom Spock was referring to. The same half-hinged sign hung in front of the pub as it slid into view. To Jim's surprise, the door to the pub opened to reveal a few customers inside already, lingering at the bar with tall glasses of fiery liquids. Relief flooding over him as the temperature inside was incredibly warm.

The bartender's head snapped up at the sound of their entrance, eyes widening marginally as they darted between them and the customers who had swiveled in their chairs in curiosity.

"Isn't he that Prince?" One of the men at the bar inquired, eyes narrowing, sliding from the stool. "That's him, right?"

The other man squinted in the dim lighting, "It could be."

Spock ignored the men, addressing the bartender directly.

"He is gravely ill and I request your assistance to aid him." He stated matter-of-factly, a hint of an emotion underlining his tone.

"It's against the law to help him, get him out of here now." The bartender rounded the bar, marching up to them, "Are you deaf? I said, get him out of here!"

Spock stayed rooted to the spot, hands gripping Jim protectively.

"I cannot, I require your services."

The bartender halted inches away from them, muttering under his breath hastily, "Dammit, man. I'm going to help him, but you need to get out of here. Meet me at the back entrance." Before Spock could reply he shouted, "Leave now!"

Jim glanced over to the two men, both now standing, leering at them. The world reeled as Spock suddenly rotated, marching back outside before veering left into the alleyway. As Spock sauntered down the narrow back street, a door hissed open and the bartender stuck his head out the threshold.

"Get in here! I haven't got all day, you know!" He hissed.

Spock quickened his pace, hustling inside the door before it slid shut behind them. The space was cramped, the doorway leading to the bar in front of them, a long stretch of staircase to their immediate left. The man fleetingly traced Jim's form with frazzled eyes before gesturing toward the stairs.

"My apartment is above the bar, I'll treat him there. I need you to be quiet, my daughter's sleeping."

Spock nodded curtly before ascending the stairs, the bartender trailing behind them. They entered into the man's small apartment and Jim marveled at the surroundings as Spock was guided into a bedroom toward the back. The man turned down the worn blankets and sheets before Spock gently placed Jim onto it, removing the guard's coat in the process, allowing him to remain in the Vulcan's coat. The man push passed Spock, fishing out a torn leather bag from the side table, rummaging through its contents before producing a shiny device.

"It's apparent you have a fever, so I'm giving you something to help bring it down. Just to warn you, it will probably knock you out."

"Wait." The man paused, hand hanging in the air above Jim's shoulder. "Who are you? Why are you helping us?" Jim inquired, voice straining.

He shook his head, "I'm Leonard McCoy, and I'll tell you everything once you're back on your feet." Peeling back the coat and Jim's collar, McCoy stuck the device into the crook of his neck, a piercing sting shooting from the injection point, eliciting a painful hiss from Jim followed by a hacking cough.

Spock moved around to the other side of the bed, overseeing the examination with caution. When Jim whimpered while McCoy attended to his swollen eye, Spock took a small step forward, legs bumping the edge of the bed with eyes ablaze, fixating on the doctor.

"Calm down, he's just being an infant." McCoy groused, glancing up toward the Vulcan. "Good thing you brought him here though, he's come down with the flu, and has a mild case of frost bite. If he'd been exposed to the cold any longer, his frost bite would be more severe and the flu could have eventually become pneumonia. Not to say it won't, he's still extremely susceptible to it at this point, so he'll need to be monitored for a while."

McCoy's words sounded distant as he continued to converse with Spock. Jim suddenly felt light, the world floating and swimming above him. The already heavy eyelids became like lead as they slid closed. The last thing he heard before he succumbed to unconsciousness was the Vulcan arguing with McCoy and stating he wouldn't leave his side.

* * *

Jim lazily floated back into conscious, a pounding in his head was the first initial sign that he was still not up to par. Pressure on his chest caused him to cough as he inhaled, a burning sensation ringing out in his throat. His eyes slit open, shifting his head slightly and feeling the fabric of the pillow peel away from his skin, his entire body coated in perspiration. The blankets had been pulled up, several layers stacked on top of him, and Jim was sweltering. He groaned, feeling completely miserable. His left hand throbbed and he shakily lifted it up to reveal an IV taped to it. How long had he been out?

Deep even breaths echoed in the small space and he turned to find Spock sitting in a chair, his shoulders and head slumped over on the bed, asleep. Something solid was restraining his right hand and he quickly glanced down, stunned to find a pale hand had latched tightly around it. Jim stared at the hand that held his for several moments before attempting to ease his from its grip. The motion caused Spock to stir, jolting awake in time to see their hands disconnect.

A pale green tint flushed over Spock's features as he quickly bolted up from the chair.

"Forgive me, Your Highness, I seem to have succumbed to my limits."

Jim blinked at him before issuing a small smile.

"Spock, you were tired, it's no big de—" It ended with a coughing fit, tears leaking from the sides of his eyes as he struggled to breath. The Vulcan immediately placed a supporting hand upon his shoulder, eyes softening with concern. Once he was able to breathe easier, he said meekly, "I'm all right, Spock."

"Your Highness is not 'all right'." He stated, "Your illness has steadily worsened."

Jim observed the tiny quiver in his voice, the subtle dark green hues beneath his eyes.

"How long have I been sleeping?" He croaked.

"Two days, sixteen hours, three minutes, and twenty-eight seconds." Spock replied matter-of-factly, astonishing him.

"And…you've been here this whole time?" Jim averted his gaze, his heart rate increasing, anxious to hear his reply.

"He certainly has, stubborn bastard wouldn't leave your side for a minute." A southern drawl interrupted them. McCoy entered the room, surveying the scene before him. "It's good to see you awake finally, but you're far from recovered."

"No kidding? I'm glad I have your expertise to enlighten me to that fact." Jim jested weakly, attempting to push the covers off of him.

The doctor scurried over to the bed and Spock stepped aside to allow him access. McCoy gripped Jim's wrist tightly, freeing the blankets from his grasp in order to pull them back over his frame.

"Sorry, kid, you need to keep them on you."

Jim groaned, "I'm hot."

"I know, but you need to sweat this out." McCoy glanced over his shoulder to the silent Vulcan, "Don't allow him to remove anything until I give the okay, understand?"

Spock's eyes darted between McCoy and Jim briefly before he replied, "I understand."

McCoy nodded before returning his attention to Jim, "Do you feel well enough to eat?"

"I'm not sure." Jim choked, breaking out in coughs, cursing softly, fighting to breathe again.

The man observed him closely, "I think we could give it a try, you need nutrients. I'll be back."

As he turned to leave, Jim stated, "I'm allergic to chicken broth."

The door closed and Spock returned to his position by the bed, watching silently over Jim until the doctor returned with his meal, chicken broth free.

* * *

Darkness blanketed the room as he tossed and turned in the bed, moaning loudly, unable to achieve a comfortable position. Spock ascended from the chair, the light of the moon outlining his figure.

"Your Highness, are you all right?"

Jim moaned in response, "No, I'm not." He muttered.

"Should I alert the doctor?"

He shook his head, tears stinging at his eyes.

"No…" He trailed off, swallowing thickly and wincing, "I just can't sleep." He sighed, "Normally, when I'm this sick, Sam would sleep next to me." The muscles in his throat constricted at the memory, "It was…just a thing he and I would do to comfort each other when we were little."

There was a palpable silence and Jim shifted uncomfortably, rolling onto his side, the curve of his back facing the Vulcan.

Jim nearly jumped out of his skin after several long moments fleeted by before Spock spoke again, his tone low, voice husky, "Would it be acceptable if I assumed his place to better aid your recovery?"

Jim's heart leapt into his throat, had Spock just asked to sleep with him? Of course, he'd known the Vulcan nearly his entire life, and was comfortable around him enough for certain casualties, but he'd never imagine Spock would initiate anything along these lines. Although, what Jim found stranger was the fact that he didn't oppose the idea, in fact, the thought held a certain comfort and—dare he admit it—longing he hadn't realized was present.

The word spilled from his mouth, detached from his inner turmoil, "Yes."

A small silence filtered through the space between them briefly, Jim's heart pounding steadily in his chest, anxious. His heart fluttered when the bed sank, the Vulcan clambering onto it, sliding beneath the damp blankets before settling into a comfortable position inches from Jim.

"Is this adequate, Your Highness?"

Jim swallowed thickly, relishing in the comforting heat radiating from Spock's body.

"I think, Spock, since we're sharing a bed, you should at least call me by my name." Jim whispered hoarsely, attempting to calm his frantic heart.

"Very well, is my position adequate?" Spock inquired gently.

Jim bit his bottom lip, a peculiar desire for Spock to be closer bubbling below the surface, bemusing him.

"Yes." He stated hastily, "Goodnight."

There was a small pause before Spock replied softly, "Goodnight, Jim."

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I'm a tease. Thank you for reading and please review!**


	6. Chapter Five

**A/N: And even more fluff! Once I get going, it's hard to stop…**

* * *

**Heir**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

* * *

Stone walls surrounded him—unfamiliar and strange. The lights flickered overhead, bathing the walls momentarily, enough to decipher that he was in a cell. Shackles latched tightly over his wrists, metal chains binding him against the stone. He had no recollection of this place or how he had possibly been brought here.

There was a soft moan and he glanced quickly to his right, eyes widening marginally at the side of the mangled Vulcan lying in a heap on the dirt floor. His heart leapt into his throat as he seized forward, immediately halted as the chains snapped, keeping him firmly in place.

"Spock!" He cried but there was no response.

Panic overwhelmed him—was he dead?

"Spock!"

"You can't save him." A familiar sinister voice floated through the air and Jim's head whipped around as the man stepped through the metal door, a malicious grin expanding on his features. "You can't save anyone."

Anger hastily replaced the fear, sweeping over him with a red-haze, "What did you _do, _you _bastard_!" Jim snarled through gritted teeth, hands clenching with rage.

Frank snickered, shuffling across the small cell until he stood over the Vulcan, producing a phaser from virtually nowhere and aiming it at the man's head. Glancing sideways towards Jim, he replied coldly, "I knew there was something. It was so simple to decipher—your weakness was the shadow that followed you for years." The phaser whined as he clicked it from the stun setting, "The only way to break you."

Jim's heart pounded rapidly in his chest, fighting against the chains that bound him, voice straining as he pleaded, "Don't!"

The phaser erupted in a single flash; splashes of green blood stained the wall beside him, splattering Frank's face.

"Spock!" Jim hollered, tears stinging his eyes, his heart making a direct plummet into his stomach. He had been the only one left that meant something, possibly even more. Now he was dead—gone.

And he never told him.

"Spock!" Jim shrieked and suddenly the cell disappeared as he jerked awake, the bedroom morphing into view as he shot up on the bed, the blankets tangling between his legs. His body trembled violently, heart palpating feverishly in his chest, breaths labored. The room was flooded with a dim light, the sun just peaking over the horizon.

It had only been an awful dream…or had it?

"Jim…?"

He jumped slightly at the voice, pivoting his body slightly toward the Vulcan now sitting up from his side of the mattress, eyes softened with concern. The image of Spock's beaten, bloodied body on the floor, head exploding from the phaser fire flashed before him and he lunged for him, wrapping his arms tightly around the Vulcan's torso, the tears that had been building streaming down his cheeks.

"Spock!" He buried his face against the heated shoulder whispering, "You're alive….thank God, you're alive."

The stiff body relaxed in his arms, a hand stroked his damp back gingerly, "I have not perished, Jim. You have experienced a 'nightmare', the events have not occurred." He said gently, shocking Jim as he allowed him to continue the physical contact.

An exasperated laugh escaped him, bordering on hysterical as he replied, "I…realize that, Spock." His arms slid away, pulling back until he met the dark depths of his eyes. Throat muscles constricting, he swallowed thickly and whispered, "I really thought I'd lost you."

A flicker occurred within the dark orbs as they ghosted over Jim's features, regarding Jim with a hard gaze before shifting his pale hand towards Jim's, two heated fingers tracing gently along the tan fingers as he spoke softly, "You will not 'lose' me, I will endeavor to sustain my wellbeing." A sudden electric jolt tingled down Jim's arm as the pads of Spock's fingers gained pressure against his, eliciting a small gasp from his lips. "_Taluhk nash-veh k'dular._"

Jim's jaw unhinged and as he was about to reply the pale fingers slipped away. The Vulcan maneuvered from the bed, diligently striding towards the door. He pivoted slightly before exiting completely and stated, "Your fever has reduced and it appears you are regaining strength, Your Highness, I will gather your required essentials to bathe and will obtain sustenance for you upon your completion." He bowed his head slightly before swiftly striding out the door, leaving Jim baffled, gawking after him.

* * *

The water was extremely cold as it bore down onto Jim's flesh and he let out a yelp of surprise, twisting the old fashioned knobs toward the warmer setting and finding it obsolete. He fumbled with the soap, trembling as his body temperature plummeted, skin numbing from the cold. By the time he finished, his teeth chattered uncontrollably, flesh tinted a faint purple. He reached for the towel on the rack and wrapping it quickly around him, wiping away the liquid hastily.

At least he felt refreshed—clear headed.

Although, he still felt weak. The lingering effects of the flu still rode through his system with a lesser potency. A pile of clothes sat neatly over edge of the cracked porcelain sink and Jim grasped at them, shimming into the torn pants clumsily, pulling the slightly larger shirt over his head before glimpsing at his reflection in the mirror. An ashen skinned, darkened eyed, cracked lipped man with disheveled sandy hair stared back.

There was no mistaking it, he looked like hell.

The apartment lacked a furnace and the air was chilly causing his already trembling body to intensify. He glanced around, seeking out another possible layer of clothing when he instantaneously stilled—eying the familiar black coat draped haphazardly over the door handle. He shuffled to the door, gripping the coarse fabric between his fingers, the pad of his thumb rubbing along the collar.

Jim had shed the coat last night, feeling the mountain of blankets plus his Vulcan heater was enough to help sweat the disease from his body. However, here it was, placed ever so carefully in his sight that he couldn't fight the smile expanding across his features. It was Spock's coat and he failed at the subtly to inform Jim to use it. Although Jim acknowledged Spock required it more, he couldn't deny the flutter of his heart at the thought of the Vulcan cracking the door to slide it inside.

Flinging it around his frame, he ran his arms through the sleeves, the insulation instantly warming him. He paused. What was wrong with him? Why did he feel almost giddy over this concept? His thoughts wandering back to the sensation when Spock's fingers traced against his. What had that been? And what were the strange words he had spoken to him?

The dream—he recalled, Spock had meant something more?

Jim shook his head, loose damp hair clinging to his brow. What was he doing? He was the crowned prince—ostracized and shamed, and Spock was his only companion. His affections had to stem from the rejection and isolation. Didn't it?

He sighed heavily, fingers ruffling through his hair, brushing away the strands near his eyes. He'd have to revisit this subject later.

A soft knock emanated from the door and he shuffled over to it, swinging the wood door inward to reveal the very Vulcan he had been mulling over.

"Spock?" He inquired hoarsely, clearing his throat as he stepped from the bathroom into the cramped hallway. "What is it?"

"I merely came to inform you that your meal is available for consumption."

Jim grinned, "Breakfast is ready, gotcha." He winked, hand clasping over the Vulcan's stiff arm briefly before brushing passed him, noticing the way the dark eyes traced over the coat on his form. Heat flared in Jim's face, ducking his head as he hastily maneuvered from the hallway into the main apartment, weaving between the frayed furniture toward the kitchen by the door without glancing back.

Sliding onto one of the stools by the island, he scrutinized his meal curiously, sniffing the aroma to decipher if he felt well enough to consume any of it—immediately shoving the eggs away as he paled.

"Your Highness, are you all right?" Spock inquired, rounding the island, stealing the plate from the surface warily.

Jim let out an audible breath, "Yeah, Spock, give me a minute." Burying his face into his hands, he took slow deep breaths, fighting against the intense urge to vomit. Apparently, he wasn't as recovered as he initially thought. "Where's McCoy?"

"Do you require his assistance?"

He paused, "I might."

"I will retrieve him." Spock's soft footfalls echoed in the small space as he passed Jim, the door's hiss piercing the air as it swished open then closed, leaving Jim in an uncomfortable silence. He huffed out a breath, fiddling with the cuff of the sleeve, fighting the thoughts wandering in his mind about the Vulcan.

Those questions had to wait.

He shivered, no longer feeling hungry as he slid from the stool and meandered over to the couch. A shawl lied over the back arch and Jim snatched it up, wrapping it around him as he settled onto the cushions, tucking his numb feet underneath him as he leaned heavily against the arm rest, allowing his eyes to flutter shut.

A few minutes passed before the hissing of the door rung out, jerking with alarm as it jarred him from his shallow slumber.

"Dammit, I told you, he shouldn't know about this!" McCoy nearly shouted as the door swished open, clamming up instantly as he sauntered inside.

Jim's eyebrows hiked curiously, "I shouldn't know about _what_?"

"Nothing, kid. And what are you doing out of bed?" He groused, storming over to the couch with long strides, the Vulcan pursuing him silently.

"Needed a shower." He curled himself into a tighter ball as he shivered again. "Why's your home so damn cold?"

"Well, can't afford to heat the entire building and no one wants to drink when it's freezing in the pub. But, it's not as bad as it seems, it's just your body trying to recover at this point." The man knelt, whipping out a small metal device that whirred as it swept over Jim's form, "You're almost there, kid. Not much longer now. Besides being cold, how do you feel?"

"I feel like I'm tired of people keeping secrets from me." Jim glared, "Care to share there, Doc?"

"No, sorry kid but I'm a hard nut to crack."

Jim sighed before glancing over to Spock, scrutinizing him with impassive eyes, "Spock?"

**"**Your Highness, I have received word of a substantial sum of money in the event of your capture." Spock spoke softly, an emotion spilling into dark eyes.

He cursed under his breath.

Frank was determined.

Now he was a wanted man, and with the entire world struggling financially, this would appear as a golden opportunity. Every man, woman, and child would be a potential threat.

"Dammit, man! What did I _just _get done saying to you?"

"It is within my requirements to inform him when addressed directly." Spock stated matter-of-factly, arms sliding behind his back as he straightened.

"I should've hypoed you while I had the chance." Grumbling as he removed himself from in front of Jim, he collapsed onto the chair beside him limply, scrubbing his face with his hand—sighing.

Jim scrutinized him with suspicion, still unsure as to why even now the man hadn't turned him in, or why he aided him so willingly with his illness.

"Alright, spill, I want to know everything. How you know me, how the hell Spock knew to bring me here, and anything else I might not know." Jim demanded weakly, shifting his position to better face the man.

Another exasperated sigh escaped McCoy's lips.

"You don't miss a thing, do you?" Sighing once more, he leaned forward, hands knitting as he fixated on a distant focal point, unseeing. "Let's start with _how _I know you. You were about ten I would guess, I was twenty and an intern at the local hospital before it closed down, which is a whole different story." He grumbled, eyebrows furrowing, "Anyhow, this one here," gesturing with his thumb toward the Vulcan, "meandered in one day carrying an unconscious blond child in his arms and both of you were beaten nearly half to death! Now, I'm still not sure how it all happened; however, when I took you from his arms, he informed me—rather rudely I might add—of who you were and…"

He trailed off, glancing over to the Vulcan who had averted his gaze, scrutinizing the wall with a distant stare. Jim fixated on the pale side profile, attempting to recall the event, keeping his eyes trained on him as the doctor cleared his throat.

"Well, the young boy started crying, claiming it was his entire fault and requested that I didn't treat his own injuries as a punishment." Jim's heart clenched, eyes widening marginally toward the rigid Vulcan. Spock cried? "Now it was awfully strange to begin with for the Prince to be brought into the local hospital instead of being treated within the castle, and when I inquired about it, he hastily informed me that treatment was unavailable."

McCoy huffed at the recollection before he continued, "When I pressed the subject, he refused to enlighten me, eagerly stating that you needed to be attended to. So, to ease his distress, I treated your wounds. He seemed to deflate quite a bit when he realized you were going to live, so I took him to a private room and sat him down, demanded he tell me everything and it would stay within the strictest of confidences. And after several frustrating minutes, he finally did."

"What did he tell you?" Jim inquired curiously, glancing away from the eerily still Vulcan to the doctor.

"Told me all about the King and how you and his race are treated. Enlightened me to the fact of what exactly happened with his planet and…" He trailed of again, fleetingly glimpsing toward the Vulcan, "certain other subjects that I'm not allowed to discuss."

"Anyway," McCoy carried on, "I managed to convince him to at least allow me to treat his more severe wounds and told him that if you or he ever needed medical care, to seek me out—that I would look out for the both of you." His lips curled into a small grin, "When you were involved in that bar fight and didn't entirely want my help or how you fought me on treating you now, it reminded me of this one over here—the countless times I had to treat him, especially the rare times he fell ill. You two are similar, even if he doesn't show it as often as _you _do."

Jim swallowed, eyes seeking out the Vulcan again that now had turned his back to the room, staring intently out the window. Was he embarrassed?

"Well," McCoy ascended from the chair, stretching. "I need to go check on the little one. I'll leave you two alone for a minute." And with that said, he strode from the living area toward the back hallway, allowing an awkward silence drape across the room.

He scrutinized the Vulcan's back intensely, thoughts reeling inside his mind. How could he not remember that incident? Uncurling himself, he rose from the couch, shuffling over to Spock cautiously, abruptly halting within a few inches of him.

"Spock…"

What could he say? Thank you? I'm sorry? The Vulcan had been sticking his neck out for him in more ways than he could ever imagine. What were the right words?

"I don't know what to say." He admitted honestly, voice cracking.

With his broad back still facing Jim, he replied, "You are not required to converse if you do not desire to, Your Highness."

"Jim." He said softly, "Please Spock, just call me Jim. You deserve it, you always have." Swallowing to ease the hard lump that formed in his throat, he continued, "You're my equal and I…"

_I love you._

Jim froze, choking back the words at the sudden thought. He _loved_ Spock? Was it similar to the love he shared for Sam, like a brother—a friend?

No. It was different, reaching a depth he couldn't quite comprehend.

Spock whirled around to face him, an emotion flickering within the dark depths of his eyes—Jim only now recognizing the meaning of the unidentified emotion.

Was it possible for Vulcans to love? Did Spock really feel that way? Was it all in his head?

_Ah…to hell with it!_

Jim bridged the gap between them, this time absent of tears. His hand curled around the nape of the Vulcan's neck, the other snaking around his waist as their lips connected. An electric fire tingled on Jim's lips, the Vulcan's soft like velvet against his, reciprocating the motion cautiously and awkwardly but with a fiery passion. A heated hand cupped against Jim's face, coaxing him deeper into the kiss and he moaned softly as his heart fluttered at the touch.

It felt so right that he silently cursed himself for not recognizing it sooner.

The world melted away, the only center of Jim's world was Spock—it had always been Spock.

Could this be real?

"Ew! Gross! Daddy!" A high-pitched voice cut through the air, jarring them from the moment as they suddenly pushed apart, glancing over to see a head full of curly brown hair bounce its way back into the hall.

The heat crept back into Jim's face, panting slightly as he glanced back toward the Vulcan, "I guess we'll talk about this later?"

A small twitch occurred at the corner of his mouth as he replied, "Indeed."

* * *

**A/N: Now, Jim, Spock did make the first move (wink). Thank you for reading and please review!**


	7. Chapter Six

**A/N: A mixture of emotions in this chapter…**

* * *

**Heir**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

* * *

"Do I really need to make a no 'make-out' rule in my own damn house?"

"You're just jealous."

"Kid, don't test me, I _will_ put you back to sleep. I have a six-year-old, could you two throw me a damn _bone_ and refrain from those sorts of acts in front of her?"

"I _could_ give you one, but…"

"Goddamn it! Now I'm _really _going to hypo you, you perverted—"

"I would advise you to refrain from your intriguing vocabulary, Doctor, as your daughter is still present."

They both paused, glancing away from each other as their sight fell upon the curly haired girl lying on the floor a few feet away, her feet kicking absentmindedly in the air as she diligently worked on her drawing. McCoy shook his head, pinning them both with an indignant glare.

"I'll deal with _you_ later." He groused, pivoting on his heel before marching toward the kitchen.

"Alright, _Bones_, I'm looking forward to it. Just promise to go easy on me, it _is _my first time."

An aggravated sound echoed in the quaint space, eliciting a deep laugh to burst from Jim's lips. He quickly regretted the action as he succumbed to more coughing, shuffling from the window beside Spock, he returned to his desired seat on the couch. Re-draping the shawl around his frame, he curled himself back into a ball as the chill of the apartment resettled over him—no longer having the Vulcan's heat near him.

There was a swish of cloth followed by the slaps of bare feet as the girl bounced from her position behind the couch and over to Spock. He regarded her curiously as she thrust the piece of paper toward him, hesitating only briefly before accepting it.

"It's for you." She stated proudly, a tiny grin expanding on her features.

Spock glanced at the gift, eyes ghosting over the image, an eyebrow arching in confusion. Jim watched the scene in front of him, stifling a chuckle at the flabbergasted Vulcan. It was clear he was unsettled and nervous—it was…adorable.

"May I inquire to what the imagery pertains?"

"Huh?" She folded her arms across her chest, scrutinizing him with a bemused stare.

"He's asking what the picture is." Jim amended, smirking as the girl's eyes grew wide with realization.

"Oh!" She giggled, "It's you and Mr. Sleepy-man, because you looked sad when he wouldn't wake up, so I made him wake up and dance with you! Now you don't have to be sad anymore!"

A green hue suddenly tinted the tips of the Vulcan's ears as his eyes scanned the picture again.

"I…do not know how to respond." He stated.

"You _could _say 'thank you', you know." Bones jeered from the kitchen followed by a loud clang of pan falling onto the wood surfacing and a mumbled string of curse words.

Spock glanced down to the girl whose eyebrows rose expectantly.

"Thank you."

She beamed at him as she bridged the gap between them in two small strides. Arms wrapped around his waist momentarily before she relinquished him, bouncing back toward her spot on the floor. Spock traced her movements with his eyes before glancing back to the paper clutched loosely between his fingers—the green hue darkening a few shades.

"Spock…can I see that?" Jim inquired, hand snaking out from beneath the shawl, extending in the air, gesturing for the Vulcan to bring it to him.

Spock approached him, eyes averted as he placed the picture into Jim's waiting hand, hastily folding his arms behind his back as though the paper had burned him. Jim analyzed the drawing, recognizing the stick figures—due to their hair colors—and chuckled as it appeared the two of them were holding hands, smiles plastered on both faces, surrounded by flowers, a happy sun off in the corner.

"She really captured your essence, Spock." Jim jested, a grin expanding, "If you'd smile like that, I may have to dance with you sometime."

He glanced up to find Spock had fixated on a distant focal point in the room, the green hue migrating into his cheeks, coloring them a pale shade of olive.

"It is illogical to participate in such a frivolous activity."

"Well…there are _other _activities we could—"

"Alright, that's enough!" Bones shouted as he stomped back into the living area, "There are still innocent ears here." Placing a tray onto the coffee table, he called to the girl, "Joanna, breakfast is ready." As she stumbled onto her feet, Bones handed a plate toward the Vulcan who reluctantly accepted it. Joanna traipsed up to her father who was in the process of placing the plate near a small chair beside the table, "There, now I expect you to eat it all." He informed her.

"Okay." She squeaked, plopping into the chair before shoveling the eggs into her mouth.

Spock swiftly sat into the chair that McCoy had previously occupied, stabbing at the fruit with his fork—eyebrows furrowed slightly, contemplative.

"Hey, what about me?" Jim inquired incredulously, his appetite finally making an appearance. "I get some eggs and bacon, right?"

"No, you get soup. And before you ask what's for lunch, it's going to be soup too." Bones groused, shoving a bowl into Jim's hand.

Jim scoffed, "That's not fair!"

"Who ever said life was fair?" Bones chuckled, amusement radiating from his hazel eyes, "Welcome to the real world, _princess_."

Jim snorted, rolling his eyes, tentatively bringing a spoonful of liquid to his mouth. The liquid was tangy, stale, and he choked it down with great effort.

"Don't be so melodramatic." Bones snorted, descending onto the cushion at the opposite end of the couch.

Jim whipped his head toward him, jaw unhinging to retort when a few louds raps emanated from the door.

"Authorities!" A muffled voice called, followed by another set of bangs. "Open the door!"

Jim cursed as Bones gestured to them to hide while he rose to his feet, shuffling toward the door, mumbling irritably under his breath. Jim quickly shed the shawl, placing the bowl onto the coffee table before stumbling onto his feet. Spock fluently ascended from his chair, hovering near Jim as he pondered a proper hiding place.

"This way!" Joanna whispered, grasping a hold of Jim's fingers, tugging him along back into the hallway—Spock tailing them.

She led them into her bedroom, a single twin bed and dresser occupying the small space, causing the room to appear barren. Joanna relinquished his fingers and trotted over to the closet, yanking the clothes hanging on the rack aside before she waved them over. Jim issued a withering glance toward the Vulcan before striding toward her, scrutinizing the closet with confusion.

"In there!" She pointed before bending, pressing both hands against the wall, grunting slightly as the door to a crawl space strained and popped opened before them.

Spock fluently dipped down once the door opened, nodding toward the girl before crawling into the space without hesitation. Jim didn't protest, he dropped to all fours, muttering a quick 'thanks' to her before following the Vulcan into the dark, cramped passage. There was a squeal as Joanna shut the door behind them, encasing them fully in darkness.

The space was meant for a single person and Jim found himself forced to entangle his limbs around Spock in an awkward, nearly uncomfortable embrace. His head rested in the crook of the Vulcan's neck, his hand grasping onto his upper arm to keep himself steady, a strong arm snaked around his waist. The tiny space fell into an eerie silence once they had settled, their breaths echoing in an uneven rhythm. Jim's heart pounded against his ribs, hands sweating nervously.

If they found out Bones was hiding them…

He didn't want to think about it. Silently, he prayed to any God that might exist that they wouldn't be found, and if they were, to have the doctor and his daughter spared from any tribulation. Jim couldn't bear it if he were the cause for more suffering, especially to the man who risked everything to aid him.

Muffled voices soon filtered through the door and Jim's heart leapt into his throat, his hand impulsively gripped Spock's arm tighter in anxiousness, bewildered as the arm around his waist compressed him tighter against the warm body possessively. His breaths ragged, he swallowed thickly to attempt to ease the hard lump forming at the base of his throat.

"Calm, Jim." He whispered softly in the shell of his ear. "I will protect you."

Although he had the desire to scream that he wasn't worried for himself, he suddenly felt immensely calmer upon hearing those words. He knew he was capable of protecting himself; however, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of warmth blooming in his chest at the notion. Through the years, he blindly accepted the fact that Spock would take care of him without allowing it much thought.

Now it was transparently clear.

And he strangely liked it.

The voices died away and after a few palpable moments passed, the door was wrenched open. Spock's free hand whipped up, the phaser they had stolen from the castle guard clutched tightly in his hand, his finger poised over the trigger.

"All clear!" A high-pitched voice pierced the thick silence as a shadow of a small figure loomed in the doorframe.

Jim released an audible breath as Spock lowered the weapon.

"Alright, we're coming out." Jim replied breathlessly, issuing a lopsided grin as he watched her bounce out of sight. Relinquishing Spock's arm, he attempted to shift away, only to be stopped by the solid arm locked at his backside. "Spock?"

The Vulcan remained silent. The only movement that betrayed his rigid composure was the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

"Spock?" Jim pressed, attempting to pull away again.

Suddenly, he relaxed—as much as a Vulcan could relax—his hand sliding along the curve of Jim's spine. Soft lips caressed the skin of his brow, warm breath tickling the flesh as he whispered, "A precaution, _ashayam_. I did not desire to succumb to deception regarding your safety."

Jim swallowed thickly.

"I see." He whispered as soft lips placed a brief kiss upon his brow.

As he attempted to calm his frantic heart, he pondered the possibilities of his blossoming feelings toward the Vulcan.

Was this really happening? Was he allowed to do this?

Spock's recent words echoed in his head.

"_I will protect you."_

His throat constricted, the same warmth consuming him. Damn…he did love him. And if Frank caught wind of it, he would undoubtedly end the Vulcan's life without mercy.

And that possibility terrified him.

* * *

A loud crash jarred him from slumber, bolting upright on the couch just as burning log rolled from view—leaving a trail of fire along its path. Jim surmised there had been others as he inhaled the thick layer of smoke blanketing the living area. Sliding off the couch, he hastily examined the room as the drapes and furniture were set aflame, searching for Spock before suddenly recalling that Bones and the Vulcan had left to attend to the bar while leaving Jim with Joanna for the night.

He paused.

Joanna.

_Shit!_

Attempting to ignore the flames licking at the walls, he blindly maneuvered through the room, pulling the collar of his shirt over his mouth and nose as his eyes stung from the toxic fumes. Turning into the hallway, he abruptly halted, stunned to find it consumed with fire, the bedrooms blocked with the raging inferno.

No…

No.

_NO!_

Jim pushed through the invisible wall of heat, cringing as the flames singed his exposed skin. He cried out as he felt the skin blister, cursing once he reached Joanna's door and kicked it with his bare foot. The wood had been weakened enough to cave, allowing him to leap over the charred remains and into the blazing room.

The wood groaned under his weight as he scurried over to the bed, barely making out the small form lying on the bed through the heavy smoke.

"Joa—" He hacked violently, nearly vomiting, tasting the fumes on his tongue.

It was evident the bedrooms were hit first, long before the living area had been. He wasn't certain of the time frame, but the fact that she wasn't conscious was incredibly disconcerting. Jim gathered her into his arms, pulling the collar of her nightgown over her face as he turned to face the door, jumping slightly as the frame caved inward, trapping them inside.

Stumbling toward the window, he shifted her body, placing her over his shoulder as he smashed the remaining glass with his fist. Grateful for the lowered pane, he easily slid onto it, blinking rapidly to attempt to clear his vision enough to see how high the second story stood. Failing at deciphering the distance and cursing under his breath, he repositioned her, cradling her to his chest before he leapt. A rush of wind roared in his ears, feet suddenly colliding with the solid ground, ankle rolling before a sickening snap rung out in the air. He cried out in excruciating pain, falling hard onto his back, Joanna's body collapsing on top of him.

He hacked violently, attempting to inhale and failing miserably—eyes watering with his feeble attempts. The world spun above him as he clutched the small girl to his body, trembling while his brain sluggishly registered the sting of the burns—a ringing blaring in his ears.

There was a dull roar of shouts with only one distinguished voice rising above the rest.

"Joanna! Joanna!"

Callused hands pried the young girl from his grip and he allowed them too, acknowledging to whom those hands belonged to. Shutting his eyes, he listened as the man desperately called her name, the southern drawl garbled—grief stricken. His chest constricted at the gut wrenching sob that escaped the man beside him.

A single tear slid down Jim's cheek at the sound.

Joanna was dead.

* * *

**A/N: Poor Bones…and before I get a barrage of sad and mad comments I just want to say (Jim thinks she's dead). Thanks for reading and please review!**


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